Dead End Street
by MirrorShard
Summary: Because that was the thing with Damon Salvatore: It was never love or hate, it was always both. Damon/Caroline


**AN: Thanks to everyone who left me a review for this story! For the time being this will stay a one-shot though I might write another chapter someday. If anyone else wants to play with the idea please PM me.**

**Note: **This short story/one shot is part of the Red Series. The Red Series is a collection of independent (short) stories playing in an universe where Elena's, Bonnie's and Caroline's friendship went much deeper than in the show and deals with the (larger and smaller) differences such a connection _might_ make.

**Warning:** There is nothing explicit in here, not even swearing. There are however implications of an abusive relationship and talk about character death.

**Pairing:** Damon/Caroline

**English is not my native language. I apologize for any mistake in advance.**

* * *

**|Dead End Street|**

_by Schlangenkind_

* * *

**_Goodbye my almost lover_.**

* * *

He was dying. He was _dying_ in her place. He was dying _because of her_.

It was funny in a way because she had always assumed if anyone would ever kill her it would be him.

But she didn't laugh because there really was nothing funny about any of this. There hadn't been anything funny in there lives for a long time now and, _god_, where did they go so wrong?

She didn't cry either because if she had it would have been for all the wrong reasons.

* * *

"I want to leave."

It took only a moment, one single, unguarded moment, for the truth to slide past her lips and now it lingered in the air between them like the scent of cleanness after a heavy storm. The words stayed with them, hovering around them, cutting and caressing like the wind as she swallowed the bitter taste they had left behind. But she refused to take them back. Not that she could. Nobody could take the words back once they had been spoken. Not really. They would still always be there, out in the open, clinging to them like a shadow or a slowly festering wound. Caroline had caused too many of these wounds already.

(She carried too many herself)

A warm hand, Bonnie's hand, gently squeezed her own and for a moment she allowed herself to enjoy the comforting sensation only her best friends could ever give her. She thanked every god she didn't believe in that the young witch by her side had finally gotten over her aversion of touching the undead. Not that Caroline could blame her.

(She did though. A little bit)

Then she ripped her arm away, _too fast, too rough_, because she didn't want to be comforted. Not when they should worry about so many other things besides herself. Not when Bonnie didn't _understand_.

"You're free to go" her friend said softly, aiming to reassure her even though her hands had yet to stop trembling. "Nobody would blame you if you did."

It should have made her feel better that Bonnie truly believed her own words. But it didn't.

(It made everything worse)

Her eyes burned like her skin in the sunlight, _sharp and painful and unforgiving_, but she stubbornly blinked the tears away. They weren't sad tears anyway. They were tears born form years of unresolved resentment and poisoned wounds that went so deep even time didn't heal them. They tasted of desperation but most of all they tasted of bitterness. And just like every other day she refused to let them fall. They were stupid, shallow and useless anyway.

(She could almost feel the invisible wounds reopening again, could almost taste the fresh blood on her tongue. _Her_ blood)

(Almost)

"No. I really can't." It was supposed to be a calm matter-of-fact statement but by the way Bonnie's head snapped up and her eyes narrowed in suspicion she suspected that her tone had carried a lot more weight than she had intended. Instinctively her muscles tensed under her friend's observant eyes as she forced her emotions, _too bright, too wild, too chaotic_, back under control. The last thing she needed was for Bonnie to suspect something.

(It was the only thing she wanted)

"What do you mean?" Bonnie looked at her inquiringly and she cursed her best friend for always asking the right questions.

(She cursed herself for always answering them)

"I want to leave" she repeated, intoning every syllable carefully and filling them with the hidden meaning of all the things she couldn't say. _I want to leave this house. I want to leave this town. I want to leave my family. I want to leave my friends. I want to leave you. I want to leave everything behind and never look back._

It was a selfish wish. The wish of a scared, insecure little girl she had tried so hard to outgrow. But she hadn't. Not really. Perhaps not ever. And she hated it. Hated how utterly self-absorbed she still was when pain, death and torture should have cured her of those faults a long time ago. Hated how her love and loyalty for Elena and Bonnie - though deep and everlasting - was not enough, _would never be enough_, to keep her here. Hated that she was weak and that the only thing keeping her in this town was her guilt. She hated many things these days.

(Most of all she hated herself)

Worse yet her unintended confession couldn't have been any less well-timed if she tried. Although she would have admittedly been hard-pressed to find a time where nothing life-changing was going on - because this was Mystic Falls and there was always something going on. After all it wasn't every day that one of there own was not simply dead - because that wouldn't have been dramatic enough to suit his style - but slowly passing away in one of the most painful, degrading ways possible. It wasn't every day that Elena was crying herself to sleep in Damon's room, watching and waiting and losing hope. It wasn't every day Stefan refused to talk with any of them, _disappearing, running, wordlessly_.

They should be desperately searching for a cure, say their tearful goodbyes, mourn Jenna's death and so many other things. Right now they had some very serious, very deadly issues to worry about and her own silly wish was definitely nobody's main concern.

(It never was)

Caroline wished she wouldn't feel so bitter about it. Because she understood, really. She did. She was just being stupid, like always.

Then she saw the flash in Bonnie's dark eyes and she knew her friend had caught the _not so hidden_ message she hadn't dared to convey for far too long. Almost unconsciously she squared her shoulders, trying desperately to prepare herself for the disappointment, the disgust, the annoyance because she was still focused on herself, even now. Especially now.

She was determined to meet Bonnie's gaze unflinchingly but nothing could have prepared her for the expression on the other girl's face. Because Bonnie didn't look furious, not even angry. She looked sad. Horribly, horribly sad.

For the first time Caroline thought that maybe Bonnie _did_ understand.

(It healed her heart and broke it all over again)

"Why?" Her friend spoke softly as though afraid of who else might overhear. As though she was afraid of the answer.

She swallowed, the action more painful than she remembered. Because this was it, this was her chance to tell, to explain, to have someone _listen_. Bonnie squeezed her hand again. (She had forgotten that she was still holding it) And she looks so concerned, so genuine and it was all it took for the dam to break.

"I can't do it anymore." Her words were quiet but sure. Then the calm faded and they blurred together in an endless stream of memories and feelings and thoughts, _out of focus but much too clear_, as her long-dead heart clenched so tightly it was almost unbearable. (It was) "He risked his life for me. He saved me. He's dying for me right now and I still- I still can't forgive him. Every smile, every joke, every snappish retort feels like a mask that could crumble any second. So _fake_. I can't forget, Bonnie, I can't let it go and it's killing me. Because I _know_ he's done good things and I don't know where I'd be without him but it just _isn't_ enough."

(It would never be enough)

She couldn't hate him because she still felt his gentle caress on her skin sometimes and she couldn't love him because his cruel words were forever etched into her mind. She hated him and she loved him because that was the thing with Damon Salvatore: It was never one or the other, it was always both.

(It was always too much and never enough)

Bonnie's grip on her hands tightened, _too tight to be comfortable_, and Caroline knew she understood everything she said and everything she didn't say. Still couldn't say.

She didn't ask her to stay and Caroline knew it was because they were both well aware that she would never leave them behind. But she still wished Bonnie would have asked, would have pretended that there was a choice, just for a moment. Except Bonnie didn't pretend.

(Caroline always pretended)

They both sat in silence, side by side, for an eternal, short moment. Neither of them said anything but Caroline felt closer to her best friend than she had to anyone in months.

(It was almost enough)

Then Elena stumbled into the room, her eyes red from all the tears she had cried and her shoulders shaking from the force of her sobs and just like that the moment was broken and they were back in Mystic Falls, back in the Boarding House, back in a reality neither of them wanted to face.

It was almost too easy for Bonnie to turn her back on her and hug Elena in an attempt to comfort the girl whom was falling apart before their very eyes.

(She was falling apart too but nobody was looking her way and it was almost okay)

And it scared her how easy the soft, reassuring smile formed on her lips, how easy she fell back into the role of the silly Vampire Barbie she had become for them. It was so easy to fake it, to pretend, to move on.

(It was almost real)

She went home. Because she couldn't stay. Because she couldn't leave.

* * *

She had come to see him. Just like she had sworn she wouldn't.

(Like they both knew she would.)

Now standing in his room, the room she had never been allowed to see when she was still his somehow-girlfriend because that would mean _giving _and_ sharing _and_ letting her in_, she didn't know why she had come here in the first place. She didn't know what to do or what to say, that was Elena's job because Caroline never found the right words or did the right thing. But Elena wasn't here. (And where was she anyway? Hadn't she been the one who insisted she'd take care of him?)

Shaking her head almost violently she shoved the thoughts of her friend's difficult relationship to the two Salvatore brothers aside. This dramatic, soap-opera worthy love triangle was none of her business and she certainly didn't plan on changing that now of all days. She looked at him then, _really_ looked at him, because something about the unnatural pale skin, the sunken cheeks, the sweat on his forehead felt so incredible wrong and it didn't make any sense. He was dying, of course he didn't look like a supermodel fresh out of a magazine right now.

And yet in all the time she had known him —

(It felt like forever and couldn't have been more than a year)

— she had never seen him as anything but handsome. Damon was vain, that she had learned within her first week with him as a human, but he had the sort of personality that made it seem like he had carefully groomed himself to perfection even when he was bathed in blood, leaves stuck in his untamed hair, a smudge of dirt on his left cheek. He was always in control, always aware and unashamed of his looks, his attire, himself. He was a gentleman, a monster, a killer, a friend and he was _always_ beautiful.

Except now he wasn't.

It was a strange thought. A strange sight really. And maybe it was shallow of her to think this way but she _was_ shallow and she had nothing to prove and really, what was the point anyway?

His eyes were closed, not in calm concentration and not in the relaxed way when he was sleeping —

(Pretending to sleep because with her he always pretended and that was okay because she was pretending too)

— they were flickering nervously, distressed, restlessly. She cocked her head to the side, thoroughly blown away by how _vulnerable_ he looked right now. It left a bitter taste on her lips because this was wrong, everything about this situation was wrong and it should be _her_ lying there, it should be _her_ dying in his stead and then it would be alright because she wanted to leave anyway.

Involuntary she opened her mouth to say what she had come to say, what she should have told him a long time ago.

(But it would have been a lie back then. It still was.)

She made no sound. Because there was another part inside her, a small part (it was larger than she cared to admit, always had been), a part he had once created that _rejoiced_ at the sight of the great Damon Salvatore being reduced to something so _fragile_, so _small_, so _helpless_. She felt repulsed at the obvious weakness he had once taught her to detest, vindicated because back then it had been _her_ in his place and seeing him suffering like this didn't change anything at all but it made her feel just the slightest bit better.

She scowled then because she was being selfish again and she was so damn tired of it. It didn't matter anyway. He was dying now. The least she could do was giving him this last chance, this last good-bye.

_I forgive you_, she tried to say but her lips refused to form the words. Because she _didn't_. She couldn't do this, couldn't absolve him, not even now, not even after he had sacrificed himself for her.

(Because he had done it for Elena)

(Because some mistakes couldn't be forgiven)

(Because her scars would never fade)

"I won't thank you" _for saving me_ she said instead. He cringed, just a little but his eyes stayed close and she knew he was listening. She knew he understood what she was saying. That she appreciated what he had done but that it would never be enough. Because she wasn't Elena. She was shallow and selfish and she couldn't do it and it was a moot point because he didn't deserve it anyway. He knew it was the truth. And now, on his deathbed, he deserved nothing less. And so much more.

For a moment she simply observed him. Unsure how to verbalize her thoughts, unsure if there was anything left to say. Then his eyes flew open and they weren't the bright blue she had gotten used to and they weren't clear at all but his gaze was so fixed on her that she knew without a single doubt that he knew exactly who she was and why she was here.

"I won't apologize" he rasped, a shadow of his usual smirk on his lips. She wanted to smile back at him, having caught the unspoken _because it wouldn't make it better_ but she didn't. She didn't have to.

Because he understood, truly understood and perhaps for the first time ever that was enough. _They_ were enough.

Then he slipped away into the dark abyss and her hand twitched in a half-hearted attempt to catch him before he fell but she couldn't follow him wherever he went and she wasn't sure she wanted to.

She left after that. Seconds, hours later. She left without a last kiss, without a soft caress, without a hug and tearful reassurances. She left without clearing the air. Because she had already given him everything she could, everything she could afford to lose.

(And maybe more, always a little too much)

* * *

Elena called the next day about Stefan's sacrifice and Damon's recovery.

(Of course it was Elena because it was always Elena when it came to the Salvatores and she was almost okay with that)

Caroline reassured and comforted and listened and smiled. Later, away from well-meaning friends and unwelcome witnesses, alone in her room she stared at the ceiling and cried herself to sleep.

They were happy tears.

(She hoped)

* * *

It was Bonnie on her door, about a week later. They talked a little about everything and nothing, laughed and ignored the sliver of tension between them. The last remains from a conversation they had led an eternity ago, a conversation that didn't matter. A conversation they couldn't let go of.

Instead they pretended and they had gotten so good at pretending she almost believed it and she was almost content. Except Bonnie didn't pretend.

"Care" she said suddenly and every muscle inside her tensed. It was in the tone of her voice, in the sudden glimmer in her eyes, in the tight set of her jaw. She knew what would come, knew they couldn't avoid the topic forever but she wanted so desperately to try.

(Wanted so desperately to give in)

"If you could change one thing, just one thing in the past year, what would it be?" Bonnie asked softly.

Her eyes widened in shock and surprise because there were so many things she _should_ say. Things like _The chaos at the Founder's day_ or _Being changed into a vampire_ or _Mason's death_ or _Tyler becoming a werewolf_ or _Attacking Matt_ or _Jenna's death_.

Then she closed them in _resignation_, _exhaustion_, _sadness_ because there was only one thing she _could_ say. And they both knew it.

_I would change the way I met him. I wouldn't become his puppet. I wouldn't fall for him. I wouldn't let him destroy me. I wouldn't let him chose me_. _I wouldn't let myself love him_.

"Damon" she finally whispered. It was just one word, two syllables, filled with so much regret.

(Filled with so many things she still couldn't name)

Bonnie smiled at her and it was a warm smile, an understanding smile and above all else a sad smile. It was beautiful. In that terrible, heartbreaking way all sad things were.

"It's okay" she said. _It's okay to put yourself before everyone else. It's okay to want to escape your own nightmare. It's okay to make this about him even if it shouldn't be. It's okay to love him_.

And Caroline smiled at her in that same beautiful, broken way because right now it almost _was_ and that was almost enough.

(She wondered when their friendship had become more about the things they didn't say than the things they said)

"Here" Bonnie put a small, white candle onto the table and lit the flame with a simple look. Her hands were shaking so badly Caroline wanted to reach out and grab a hold of her but she knew her friend wouldn't let her even if she didn't understand why.

Then Bonnie lifted her gaze from the small, flickering light and there was so much _power_, so much _determination_ in her eyes and even as tears flowed down her face the air cackled with magic and pure, unadulterated strength. She spoke again and her words sounded so choked it was almost painful but all she could hear were the things that weren't said out loud because these were the things that truly mattered.

_I did so much for Elena and never enough for you. I made so many mistakes with you. I failed you again and again. I need to do this, for you, for us, for me but mostly for you. Let me make this about you just this once. It will never be enough but it's a start and it's all I can give you_.

"Make a wish." _One wish is what I grant you and one wish you shall have_.

* * *

She hesitated because of the gentle way he would look at her sometimes when he thought she wasn't paying attention but she didn't hesitate because of the careless words he threw at her when she was paying attention.

_I wish you wouldn't have broken me_.

The candle flickered.

(_I wish almost could have been enough_)

* * *

This was planned as a one shot but I'm playing with the idea of writing a few additional chapters so let me know what you think! I'm currently also working on a Delena story as the next part of the Red Series but I like Daroline and I had fun with this. There might also be another one in the same universe where Caroline's and Elena's friendship will be explored since this one focused mainly on Bonnie. Anyway, R&amp;R everyone!

Love, Schlange


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